


In His Shadow

by Margaret Ann (Manderson)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Electricity, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, M/M, Revelations, Romance, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-22 14:48:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30040341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manderson/pseuds/Margaret%20Ann
Summary: Confronting one another in the Praetorium, Cid and Nero discover something important not only about themselves, but about each other.
Relationships: Cid nan Garlond/Nero tol Scaeva
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	In His Shadow

Cid gritted his teeth. “Nero, for the last time, I’m not your enemy. Can’t you see that the real ones we should stop are the Garleans who want to break us apart by destroying the world?!”

“No!” Nero clenched his fists in his titanium gauntlets. His voice echoed to the steel ceiling high overhead. “You’re the fool who won’t listen to reason. But why should I expect any different.” His voice sounded hollow in his own ears as hot tears of bitter anger stung his eyes. “Ever since childhood, I’ve waited for you to make a mistake. Or to finally figure out how to surpass you. I spent my entire childhood, my entire life, huddled in your shadow. No one—not Mid, not Gaius himself—ever saw past your potential to mine!” He raised his head, his crimson-lacquered helmet gleaming in the Praetorium's harsh lights. “And now, after all these years, I’ll finally have my revenge!”

“Oh…” Suddenly, everything made sense to Cid. The childhood rivalry he’d never wanted with a slim, blond youth over grades and inventions and the affection—the _approval_ —of the adults around them. The things that would go wrong in the morning after he’d left his latest project in the lab. The eyes he’d feel on his back striding down the corridors, plans in hand. Even the pranks that straddled the line between mischievous and mean that became almost daily occurrences as he got older. All of it.

He closed his blue eyes and lowered his head. “Yes,” he said softly. “It must’ve been cold there in my shadow.”

Nero narrowed his eyes. “It wasn’t bloody pleasant, I can tell you that.”

The understanding of how his rival must’ve struggled through the years, striving to surpass him, tore at Cid’s heart. “To never have sunlight on your face…”

“Well, that’s not exactly—” Nero started to protest. How Cid had known how Nero had seen him all those years, a wall in the way of his progress, blocking out the light of victory—was the damned engineer suddenly psychic, too?

“You were content to let me shine,” Cid said, picturing all the times Nero had clapped when awards were given out. When placements within the Empire were assigned.

Ire boiled in Nero’s chest. “No, I most certainly wasn’t!” He took a few steps towards Cid, mentally calculating just how much force his punch would need to send his rival’s jaw skittering across the floor.

If Cid noticed the clanking of Nero’s boots, he made no motion. “You always walked a step behind. I…was the one with all the glory.”

“Which was exactly the problem!” Jaw _and_ nose, Nero decided. Possibly ears, too. Shouldn’t be too hard to rip off.

“But you…” Cid raised his head, his crystalline eyes resting on Nero’s face, as if seeing beyond the helmet. “You were the one with all the strength.”

Nero nearly stumbled in his tracks. Had…had Cid noticed? All those years ago, when he’d started striving to become more powerful? Once he’d realized that he’d never get anywhere competing with Cid in the field of the mind, he’d begun training with the imperial arms masters. At first it had just been a way to distinguish himself, but Nero couldn’t deny that there was a small part of him that had wanted to catch Cid’s attention.

Cid’s face softened as he saw Nero hesitate. “A beautiful face without a name…”

The anger in Nero’s chest vanished like a candle extinguished. Blood flooded his cheeks, and he was so glad for the helmet. “I…what?”

Cid took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. He reached for Nero’s face, his fingers finding the latches that kept the gold-trimmed helmet closed. They opened at his touch, and he gently lifted the helmet from Nero’s head. Nero’s eyes, green as the olive groves that grew outside the imperial city, were uncertain. In them Cid could read the depth of the struggle waging in Nero’s heart. He understood it—he’d fought that same war every night since they’d met all those years ago. Nero’s golden curls were sweaty and tousled from being enclosed, and Cid let the helmet fall to the ground. He did then what his fingers had been itching to do for far too many years. He brushed the curls away from Nero’s face.

It took all Nero’s strength to resist the urge to lean against the warmth of Cid’s work-calloused hand. The touch made his skin buzz like a live wire. His heart thrummed in his chest with the whirr of a Magitek engine. He couldn’t stop his lips from curling upwards as he read the gentleness on Cid’s face.

The world around Cid seemed to fade away as he watched Nero’s expression soften. “A beautiful smile to hide the pain…”

“Cid, I—” Nero began, but he bit back his words. No, this was not a time for words. For too long he’d let his life be dictated by words: cruel words from his parents, demanding to know why he didn’t have more success; haughty words from lovers he’d taken as they left, throwing his affecting back in his face; rash words he’d screamed in anger at the universe when it didn’t bend to his will. Words he’d spoken to Cid, that afterwards he’d always wished he could take back.

There was no time for words. He pressed the buttons on the palms of his gloves that disengaged the rest of his armor, sending it clattering to the ground. He kicked the shin guards, the thigh protectors, the breastplate aside. Then, before he could even think, Nero closed the rest of the gap between himself and his rival—his idol—no, dammit, his _love_ —and pressed his lips to Cid’s.

Cid stiffened for a moment with surprised, his heart racing in his chest. Of course, of course—this was what he’d wanted. Of course it was Nero. Everything in their lives had moved them to this moment—

And the kiss was magnificent.

Nero curled his fingers through Cid’s white hair, every nerve attuned to the surprisingly silky strands. He pulled Cid’s face closer, parting his lips in their kiss, breathing his breath. A corner of his mind kept whispering that this would end, that this was a setup for some cosmic joke, that Cid was merely distracting him so one of his precious peons could slip by, unnoticed, and foil the Empire’s plans. He ordered that part of mind to shut up.

After a moment, Cid broke the kiss. He was breathing heavily, and he couldn’t believe he was finally, finally doing this. It wasn’t just fantasy—it was inevitability. He kissed the corner of Nero’s mouth, then brushed more kisses along his jaw to his ear. “Did you ever know,” he murmured between each one, “that you’re my hero?”

Nero couldn’t help but laugh, but it wasn’t his usual, mocking bark. The sound was husky, smoky with the sensations steaming his blood. Cid’s hands on his bare skin made him shiver, and this feeling coursing through him—Nero was no innocent by any stretch of the imagination, but this was more than ordinary lust. No, he realized, this was actual _desire_. He wanted to learn and be learned. To know and be known. To take and give and—and _live_ —

Cid pulled Nero closer to him, tugging at his shirt. His fingers felt the smooth, scarred muscles of Nero’s back, and he struggled to remain standing. Thought was becoming impossible; he felt dizzy, giddy with happiness. From the way Nero was reacting, the sharp intake of his breath when he kissed his way down Nero’s neck to the collar of his shirt, the way Nero’s fingers twisted through his hair, pulling him closer, the exquisite electricity when Nero pushed his hips against Cid’s with a determination bordering on desperation… “You’re everything I wish I could be,” he whispered.

With one hand, Nero pushed Cid away. “Why would you want to be me? I’m no one. I’m nothing.”

Cid shook his head and cupped Nero’s cheek with his palm. “No, I can fly higher than an eagle because you are the wind beneath my wings.” He drew Nero’s face up, finding his lips again in a kiss that was infinitely tender and patient.

Nero trembled in Cid’s arms, tears welling in the corners of his eyes. He nearly melted against him, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted to feel Cid’s skin on his, not just his hands, but everything. His fingers fumbled at his belt. He wanted—he wanted Cid to see—

And then Cid’s hands were there, large and firm and steady, tugging the leather and metal apart and letting it fall away. Cid hesitated for the first time, his pulse pounding in his ears. He shivered, his hand shaking as he reached forward—

“Urianger?”

“Ah!” The Elezen nearly jumped out of his skin. He spun around on his stool to see Thancred leaning against the doorframe to the library, a quizzical expression on his face. For the first time in his recollection, he was glad for the weight and size of his heavy, woolen robe. It made hiding what he didn’t want seen so much easier. “What—what dost thou need?!”

“I was just coming to get that book for Y’shtola,” Thancred replied. He slid into the room, his face neutral but his eyes dancing. “What about you? Do you need me to bring you something first? A cold drink, perhaps?”

“It is here on the table,” Urianger replied, his voice gruffer perhaps than he intended. Stiffly he stood and, as surreptitiously as possible, slid the dolls he’d been holding under his book stand. “I must needs return to my studies. If you would.” He walked to the bookshelf on the far side of the room and studied it as he struggled to get himself under control.

Thancred chuckled to himself as he grabbed Y’shtola’s tome. It wasn’t every day he caught his fellow Scion less than perfectly composed. “Do you want me to switch your song for you? It’s been on repeat for—well, since I’ve been standing there, which was at least ten minutes. If you listen to this one too many times in a row, you’ll wear out the roll, and I’m certain that Tataru would be displeased if she had to find money in the budget for you to buy a new one.”

“N-no, just leave it. I shall change it myself when I’ve a mind.” Urianger reached for a book on the shelf, not because he wanted something to read, but to steady himself. He wasn’t entirely sure if he was ready to pass out due to embarrassment or, well, something else.

Thancred watched Urianger’s back for a moment, then slipped his hand under the book stand. He found the pair of small ragdolls, inexpertly crafted but quite clearly depicting that Nero tol Scaeva and a white-haired Garlean, apparently the engineer Nero had always been ranting about—Cid? “Interesting…” he murmured, slipping them in his pocket and leaving the library.


End file.
